


Exhale

by WintersLonging (LivingSilver)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smoke Sharing, smoking fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/WintersLonging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gives a small nod, raising the cigarette to his lips. You watch transfixed as the cigarette settles against the plush curve of his bottom lip and the effortless exhale of smoke that follows in its absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhale

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So basically, the other day on tumblr a photoset of Sebastian smoking came across my dash and it included a gif of him exhaling smoke that pretty much ruined me. If you don't know what a French inhale is, you should look it up because I tried to describe it but its hard to find an attractive way to do that because the description is actually kind of gross like you exhale smoke and then inhale it up through your nose so. Just look it up okay. It's the thing that people do. You'll be like oh I recognize that. Like I didn't know it had a name okay.

The credits roll black and white across the TV screen signaling the end of another group movie night. Stretching you get up from the couch and go out to the balcony for some air as everyone begins bidding good night.

A small thrill of surprise runs through you at finding Bucky already out on the balcony, hunched forward over the railing, bathed beautifully in the night light of the city, a cigarette dangling between chrome fingers. You had been too wrapped up in the plot of the movie to notice his departure from the living room.

“Hey,” Bucky throws out, letting you know it’s okay to be there.

“Hey, just wanted some air."

“Was it good?” Bucky asks referring to the end of the movie he missed.

“Yeah, I liked it," you say, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ears.

Bucky gives a small nod, raising the cigarette to his lips. You watch transfixed as the cigarette settles against the plush curve of his bottom lip and the effortless exhale of smoke that follows in its absence. Bucky glances over, mistaking the desire in your gaze, he silently offers you the cigarette, cybernetic arm outstretched.

You’re tempted, if only to put your mouth where his just was. You already had it bad for Bucky, but you don’t know when he had taken up smoking, and discovering him out here wrapped in grey wisps was just the cherry on top. You give a small shake of your head. You just want to watch. God, you just want to fucking watch.

Bucky just quirks an eyebrow and places the cigarette back to his mouth. He tilts his chin up slightly this time, cheeks hollowing faintly as he takes a rather long drag. He lets the smoke go slowly, it caresses his bottom lip before disappearing into the night. You suck the inside of your bottom lip in between your teeth at the sight, trying to hide the action from Bucky, panties starting to get wet, flushing warm all over.

“You alright, doll? You don’t look so well,” Bucky asks innocently.

“Oh yeah. Guess I should just be getting to bed,” you dismiss indifferently.

“Sleep well.”

Bucky smirks to himself as you leave.

When you get to your room, your fingers immediately slip beneath your panties, and you get off on images of Bucky exhaling white and grey into the night.

The next morning, you go to the kitchen for coffee, same as every morning, except Bucky is sitting on the balcony, perfectly visible through the glass in the bright light of morning. Bronze skin of his bare chest golden in the sun and a cigarette resting between his lips. It’s all you can do to keep from moaning out loud, but you set about fixing your coffee instead. You stand behind the counter, sipping your coffee leisurely, and watching Bucky intently.  He feels your gaze and looks over at you through the glass. Blue eyes locking with yours as he takes a deliberate drag, making a show of tilting his face up and to the side as he blows out a puff of white that is quickly lost in the clouds, never breaking eye contact. He stubs it out in the ashtray and gets up, breaking you of your trance, suddenly nervous at his approach.

“Enjoy the view?” Bucky teases smugly, stepping in and sliding the glass door shut.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” you quip.

Bucky saunters around the counter, black sweats slung low revealing the curve of his defined hips and you know he’s not wearing boxers. He disappears behind you and you thought he was going for the fridge but then his breath is fanning warm over the side of your neck, smell of tobacco still clinging to him.

“Didn’t know that’s what you were lookin’ at, doll.” His voice a low purr, spreading dark and sweet like molasses over your senses. As soon as he was there, Bucky’s gone, turning away to open the fridge, leaving you a mess of chemical reactions as your nervous system tries to process what just happened. Unable to form a response, you decide to finish your coffee in your room.

A few days pass surprisingly without incident, until late one night you're on the balcony trying to clear your mind, when the glass door whispers open. A glance over your shoulder reveals a chronically half dressed Bucky, but instead of sweats, he's wearing low cut jeans. Denim hugging the thick curves of Bucky’s thighs, black boxers visible above the line of his jeans, long hair messily swept up off his shoulders.

And it's a large balcony, he could sit or stand anywhere. But he chooses to stand next to you at the railing, silently withdrawing a cigarette case from his back pocket. You note the case with interest. Something of a relic. Mostly everyone just keeps them in the pack these days. Bucky's case is a simple black and silver thing as he pops it open, you wonder why he even smokes. Its not like the chemicals can actually affect him.

"Why do you smoke?" You ask, unable to keep the latent curiosity out of your voice.

" 's familiar." He mumbles with a cigarette hanging tenuously from the corner of his mouth. Then takes a drag. "Reminds me of…before." He finishes. Smoke ghosting out with every word.

You give a nod of understanding. For awhile there's silence; nothing but the soft rhythm of Bucky's exhalations and you finding shapes in the clouds of white that Bucky releases into the dark to distract yourself. Distract yourself from the expanse of his bare body doused in moonlight so close to you and the caress of his metallic fingers gleaming against the bruised pink of his lips with every drag.

"What about you, doll? You sure do seem to like watching me smoke," Bucky asks languidly, voice going to that dark and sweet as molasses pitch it had been the other day, blue eyes gleaming darkly, studying you with lazy interest, like a panther getting ready to pounce.

You shrug, trying to remain casual, but you avoid his heated gaze.

"Don't gotta be shy about it, sweetheart. Everyone has something." Bucky states matter-of-factly.

And then just to get under your skin, he takes a long drag, but doesn't actually inhale, just lets the smoke gather in his mouth, before parting his lips slightly in a French inhale, letting the cloud of smoke sit on the edge of his bottom lip and drift up to skim over his cupid's bow, before gracefully letting the rest out in a slow rush of air.

Bucky's blue eyes drift down to your chest, catching the uneven rise and fall of your breath, before he drags them back up  to your face. Then he's moving, slow and fast all at once in your mind, behind you , arms caging you in as he places a hand on either side of you on the railing.

"Why don't I tell you why you like watching me smoke?" Bucky murmurs rhetorically, lips hovering close to the sensitive shell of your ear.

"Because you love my mouth don't you, doll? And this," he flicks the ash from his cigarette for effect, "gives you an excuse to look at that god damn mouth  that you love so much. Wanna feel it all over your body, don't you sweetheart? Bet you're jealous of every cigarette I've ever smoked aren't you? Jealous of the way they get to touch my lips.  Turn around, doll," Bucky finishes gently, but his voice is heavy with want and promise.

You obey, every fiber of your being alight with ecstasy, twisting in the small space of his arms  so the railing is behind you and the expanse of his exposed body is mere millimeters away from yours, tilting your face up to look at him.

"Don't gotta be jealous no more, sweetheart," Bucky purrs.

 He cups your cheek with his flesh hand, while raising the cigarette to his lips, inhaling. And then, cupping your other cheek with the cybernetic hand, lowers his face to yours, gently releasing the smoke against your lips. Your lips automatically opening to accept and when the smoke is gone, Bucky closes the gap, meeting your lips for a messy open mouthed kiss, tongues and residual smoke immediately tangling together. You moan dimly, surging against him, hands reaching to cup his jaw, thumbs stroking over the angle of his cheekbones as you devour each other. Bucky tasting like tobacco, faintly of vodka, and all  of your darkest wants.

When Bucky pulls away, you chase his lips. You don’t need air. This is all you need. Bucky is all you need. Bucky kissing you until there's no oxygen left in your body.

"Shhh, doll, you gotta breathe." Bucky says trying to calm you, as he pulls farther away, holding your face still this time. You pant raggedly. Bucky takes in your lust blown pupils and high color gracing your cheeks, dragging his hands down roughly over your body to grip your hips. Abruptly forcing a thigh between your legs, you throw your head back and arch your back simultaneously at the delicious pressure, hot against your core and moan loudly.

There's nothing left of Bucky's cigarette at this point, so it falls to the ground and while his left hand is occupied with retrieving another one, his right hand stays on your hip, thumb slipping under your shirt to rub circles into your skin.

You take the opportunity to map your hands over the hard ridges of his body, marveling at how smooth he is under your touch.

He starts on the second cigarette, jaw flexing as he pops open your jeans and drags the zipper down. Right hand immediately slipping beneath your panties, you sigh airily at the heated contact, fingers brushing over your clit before roaming down to tease at your slicked entrance.

"Fuck," Bucky curses quietly in a billow of smoke "you're wet. You get this wet just from watchin' me? Christ, doll."

You grind down against his thigh when his fingers trace back up to your clit, teasing lightly. And you want to close your eyes, it feels so good, but you can't look away from each drag off the cigarette and the hollowing of his cheeks and the smoke soft against his lips and the dark pupils of his eyes blown wide enough for you to drown in as he watches you come apart. Bucky's fingers roll harder over your clit and your grip on his arm tightens, nails biting half moons into his skin, letting him know you're close.

Bucky presses his thigh higher against your core, causing his name to spill desperately from your lips. Again, he lowers his face to yours in a halo of smoke, lips slotting oh so tenderly against yours so unexpected in a way that has your eyes finally falling shut as all of the sensation coursing through your body comes to a peak. Bucky  eagerly swallowing down every half formed noise you make as you tremble against him. His fingers continuing to work you over until you whimper pitifully into mouth.

Bucky reluctantly withdraws his hand, only to torture you with the sight of his pink tongue flicking out around his fingers to taste you. Stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, he lifts you easily and carries you inside so the two of you can traverse the depths of desire spread out against the sheets of Bucky's bed.

 


End file.
